


I don't want to talk about it

by Softfallenofthenight



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Emotional Manipulation, Emotionally Repressed, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Other, Past Violence, Repressed Memories, She/Her Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-31 17:29:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21449992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Softfallenofthenight/pseuds/Softfallenofthenight
Summary: He did this to her.The faceless angel of her memories.The one that made her heart ache in the most disgusting of ways.When the war came, and it would come, she would use his own blade to cut his wings, just as he had done to her. And then, without mercy she would rip out his heart.I'm not good at summaries, please enjoy.
Relationships: Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	1. Let sleeping dogs lie

It was the soft flickering of memories that kept her awake. Like a dog knawing at the back of her skull as she lay on her desk.  
There was no bed in her room, almost no furniture save for the old desk and chair that sat behind it. The largest room hell had to offer and it was painfully empty, just like the occupant that incompassed it.  
Sleep did not come to her easily, it never did, like a passing cool breeze in summer it lingered on her eyelids but gave no mercy from the relentless heat. 

Two swords hung on the wall unused for many a millennia. The one on the right mocked her, it's familiar shine unnatural for it's surroundings. A keepsake from heaven. His sword. The one that cut her wings.  
Back aching at the memory she shuts her eyes, breathing out a deep sigh even though she did not need to breath. Unlike most demons her wings never grew back, not even the slightest sign of growth after a thousands of years. She was earthbound.  
Scowling she gets up, knocking the cup off the edge of the desk without care for the mess it caused, her office was littered with glass, centimetres of it dug into her feet as she walked barefoot over to the mocking blade to lift it up.  
Corporeal form bleeding she takes it in her hand.  
He did this to her.  
The faceless angel of her memories.  
The one that made her heart ache in the most disgusting of ways.  
When the war came, and it would come, she would use his own blade to cut his wings, just as he had done to her. And then, without mercy she would rip out his heart.  
Lifting the blade she slices down, a swift motion that creates enough wind to blow the papers in her room about. Angelic light still shone from it after all these years, disgusting. 

Placing it back on the stand she contemplates it's demonic counterpart, a sword she had made from the blood of the first thousand humans she had slaughtered. The mirror image of the angelic sword but dark and rusted, still deathly sharp though, still a match for anything made in heaven. 

Walking to the door she slips her bleeding feet into her shoes, the insides crusted with the blood of the past.  
A meeting was scheduled today, a meeting with heaven.

After the accident at Taddfield Airbase Hell was in shambles. Riots marked the hour for days on end and when the week had closed over a thousand demons had been executed by her order. There was no place for disorder in hell. Which is funny, if she thought about it. "No disorder in Hell-" chuckling drying she goes for the door, only to stop and look back at the swords.  
She leaves, rusted sword strapped to her side like a weight to keep her tethered, a reminder of how she was grounded and who's fault it was. 

\-------

The meeting, as to be expected from angels, is disorderly and chaotic. Voices tumble over one and other to be heard. Archangel and Demonlord alike shouting like thunder. 

Beelzebub sits quietly in her chair, sharp blue eyes watching in silence.  
Michael and Dagon are shouting, something inconsequential to the meeting. The idea of blame is being thrown around like a dagger. Of course it couldn't be Heaven's fault, they had sent down a guardian to make sure the child, Adam, was passive in his role, obedient to his job, clearly it was Hell's bad influence that made him so wild and opinionated. 

The flies around her buzzed with the anger in the air, feeding off it happily. Something is addressed to the Prince of Hell but she doesn't catch it, to many voices to hear. Feeling the range building up in her chest she sits up properly for once, voice like a hurricane sweeping over all others "Shut it!" 

And like after a hurricane it becomes unnaturally silent. Eyes turning to her, Angels looking irritated, Demons looking scared. "We're going in circles with this form of reasoning, let's just drop it for now-" a quick glance around "-and move onto the next point: what are we going to do now?" 

Armageddon had not happened, the great plan was in shambles and the question of what to do next had never been answered. There wasn't meant to be a next. There wasn't meant to be anything else. Just the war. 

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" the smug and familiar voice sends another throb to her head, headache already splitting. Gabriel sat straight backed and perfect posture, down the table from her "If no one is to blame then no one gets punished and you all get to go about your demonic way without a care in the world," he was insufferable. She had only met him tje week before and yet she could already feel herself glower at him in pure hatred, smug, arrogant angel. 

Scowling down at him she resists the urge to bare her teeth at him, instead matching his posture "I am not saying that no one is to blame, only that right now is not the time." how dare he roll his eyes at her, like she was some child speaking "You'll get your blood angel, but not until we can all agree on what to do next." 

"And what do you suggest we do next?" venom drips from every word, all eyes on the two of them, waiting to see how this will all play out "Surely, if you're bold enough to speak over us, you have a plan?" 

Beelzebub couldn't hide the smug smile that curled her features into an ugly expression. Placing on the table a large stack of papers, slightly burnt as all things from Hell were, and slides them down to him with one big push of her arm.  
"That is an outline of my plan." a little to snide, the words leave her lips "We are all to continue collecting souls, building our respective strength until the New Armageddon comes," whispers flow like water, growing louder until she has to glare down those who dare speak "And while we collect our souls, I will form an investigative team to look into the mess that happened, to see where the blame really lies." 

Michael speaks up now, her hand raised as she fakes politeness. "Not that we do not trust the scum of Hell- but if there is to be an investigation I am sure all of Heaven would feel more secure in it's findings if we were to conduct the investigation." 

"Not bloody bloody likely-" Hastur snorts, holding back laughter like this is some sort of game to him. His speech had been impaired since he had been released from the answering machine, words repeated and buzzing like static electricity had taken hold of his throat. Beelzebub throws a quick glare his way but the demon is not looking, he never took notice of anything anymore, not since Ligurs death. 

"A joint investigation then," Gabriel's chipper voice breaks through once more, that false smile pulling at his lips "One demon and one angel shall be selected to work together while the rest of us get back to preparing for the War-"

Michael cuts him of "Are you volunteering, Gabriel?" 

"Well no I-"

"Excellent! Oh the lord will be pleased! Now for your demon partner.." Michael's eyes hold some form of sadistic glee as they land on Beelzebub, like she is taking great joy from this "My Prince, care to keep Gabriel grounded?" the stumps on her back twitch at the jab, rage bubbling up "It was your plan after all, and even in Heaven we hear how effectively you work." the Demons at the table are stirring, they smell the blood in the water and are looking for a sign of weakness from the Prince of Hell.  
Baring her teeth in a smile matching Michael's fakeness Beelzebub speaks. "I would love to."


	2. Coffee cart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The investigation begins

Chapter 2:   
A meeting had been set, a familiar park in London by a rather large pond. Beelzebub erupts from the ground in flames, hidden from the humans by a small grove of trees.   
Why had she agreed to this. 

Another sleepless night had her in a bad mood, heavy exhaustion set into every feature of her face. The suit she normally sported was gone, too eye catching, they couldn't afford the attention while investigating.   
Instead she wore a black suit and shirt, pencil skirt and a red tie. The only pop of colour apart from the tie being her medal of dishonour, which had been shrunk and fastened on her lapel. 

"Late-" she hisses in annoyance, checking the mortal watch on her wrist. Typical of an Angel to be running late, they worked entirely at their own pace because 'God's would keep them on schedule, like she had time to look over them. 

There is a small cart vendor catches her eye, coffee was just the thing she needed to perk up her corporeal form. 

Gabriel arrives later, not in the dramatic fashion that Beelzebub does but running, why was he running? Stiffening she looks about for who might be chasing him but finds nothing. No hoard of demons out for his blood, no angels brandishing their swords at him. Strange Angel. His clothes look soft and grey, pants baggy and shirt too tight to be comfortable. 

"You're late-" she buzzes angrily, as he passes, not stopping "Gabriel-" he keeps going, was that the curl of a smile she saw as he went passed? Tossing her cup to the ground she makes off after him, deeply regretting the short heels she had worn to match his height. 

They run for about a blocks length, Beelzebubs face turning red "Gabriel!" shouting she quickly falls behind, not one to run under any circumstances "You fucking ba-"

"Now now- no cussing-" he slows down to cut her off, smirk in place as he slows down to be at her side. "Lord Beelzebub-" giving a little mock bow he jogs in place.

"You're fucking late, we agreed on nine o'clock-" she was sweating from the short run, cheeks red. It was not a bad look, though Gabriel quickly pushes that thought away. 

"Did we? I can't remember, the memo you sent up was rather burnt," that was a boldfaced lieand Gabriel knew it, Dagon sent that memo, so if anything it would have been a little soggy. Scowling up at him she has to crane her neck, even with the heels he was a good head and a half taller than her. 

Gabriel seems to notice, he stops jogging to lean down, knees bent with a mocking smile on his face, an act of false respect to allow her to be taller "So Crowley and Aziraphale-"

"Have been investigated to death. We need to look at the other factors that play into this mess-" her answer seems to have him surprised. Of course the infamous couple were A Problem, but not the Whole Problem. There had been many little slip ups along the way, lots of little mistakes that led to the demon and angel taking care of (or rather not taking care of) the child.

"Where do you suggest we start then?" they strolled now, side by side as Gabriel takes comically short steps to stop himself from out walking her. 

Beelzebubs eyes are drawn to the gleaming surface of the pond, transfixed to the water. Memory flashes in the back of her mind. When she fell it was water that greeted her burning corpse. Cold as ice. More cutting than any blade into the heat of her body. Most of the Earth was covered in the stuff and unlike Dagon she did not rejoice in that fact. "We need to interview Hastur, he gave Crowley the baby, we must be sure the trouble only started with Crowley and Aziraphale, and not before." she was not paying attention, stuck in her head for the moment. 

"The Demon Hastur, what exactly is his problem?" Gabriel had noticed the way he seemed to flicker, like a projection on the astral planes rather than being corporeal like the rest of them. It was unnerving to watch his image shift and distort during the meeting, interviewing him would be worse. 

Beelzebub doesn't answer him, still transfixed on the water. "Prince?" he snaps his fingers in front of her face "Lord?" no reaction "Beelzebub-"

She stiffens, looking up at him as the familiar voice brings her back "Hastur was trapped in an answering machine by Crowley, I think some part of him was left behind there... And then there's the matter of Ligur. We must not bring him up, not purposefully at least-" the words tumble out, making up for her minor space out. God she was tired. 

Gabriel stares, in that unsettling way he has, down at her "He was trapped in an answering machine?"   
"Don't ask me the details, I don't know-" 

Uncomfortable silence passes between them, Beelzebub finally pulling her eyes away from the water to stare up at him. Eye contact.

A flash of familiarityly. Hatred. Disdain. And something that makes her stomach turn in a most unpleasant way. 

Unexpectedly he looks away first, confidence slipping away for a second before coming back in full force "I want to lead the interview-" 

"Out of the question. In case you haven't noticed you're not the most sensitive of Angels and Hastur is-" what was the word, fragile? Broken? "Hastur is unstable," growling low she scowls.

"I don't care-"

"You never do-" the words slide out before she can stop them, not sure where they or the venom behind them came from; the ache in her chest tightens. 

"What's that meant to mean?" her back aches at the tone of accusations in his voice, was that hurt she heard? Guilt? What did he have to be guilty about? 

Another deep breath she didn't need is sucked into her lungs, the demon pulling back "Nothing, I'm sorry-" eyeing the coffee cart as it make it's way up the path again she sighs "I'm tired-"

"So am I-" there's a moment of understanding between them, like two rival store managers during the rush season, the competition didn't matter at the moment, they just had to cope with the influx of work. "Coffee?" Gabriel suggests, gestures to the cart.  
"Yes."

\------

They agree to postpone Hastur interview, instead opting to look at the nunnery where the drop off had happened. "What do we know about this place?" 

Stepping into the grounds Gabriel feels a shiver up his leg, his foot beginning to tingle slightly like the ground itself was wrong. 

"Up until eleven years ago it was The Order of the Chattering nuns- some of our followers who dedicated their lives to preparing for Armageddon" that explained the tingling. Didn't explain the strange amount of love he felt radiating off the building, like waves of happiness hitting him and he feels his wings fluff up on the celestial plane. The smile on his face becomes more genuine. 

"Let's go then- I've always wanted to see a Satanic nunnering-" his glee made Beelzebub bristle, it was infectious and disgusting. Keeping the smile from her lips she just scowls, leading the way through the court yard.


	3. Low balling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel and Beelzebub begin their investigation at the nunnery.

chapter 3:

It didn't take long for them to find the source of happiness, Beelzebub and Gabriel watching through a window as dozens of humans ran about like apes and shot at each other with glee. What was it about violence that made humans so happy? Beelzebub frowns, staring down at the brightly coloured splatterings if paint. Would they be so happy if those were real bullets? She wanted to find out, lifting her hand to form tragedy at the snap of her fingers.

"Don't-" Gabriel's hand shoots out, catching her fingers "We wouldn't want to draw any attention, now would we?" there's a smugness to his voice that makes her neck prickle, putting her hand back down sharply with a slighft slap to his own hand. She could tell from his eyes that he had been contemplating it as well, to see the red stain the ground and cover up those disgustingly bright paints.

"Are you two lost?" the voice behind them makes them turn, the two eyeing the ebony lady coming up behind them. She was well dressed, conventually attractive by human standards and somewhere in her late thirties-early forties. But what struck both angel and demon as unusual was the angelic grace that clung to her skin, like a walking garden it made Beelzebub want to gag. Gabriel takes in a deep breath of the stuff much to the demons horror. 

"She's been blessed-" he says without acknowledging the human "A very strong blessing, it must be at least ten or so years old, the blessings are piling up on her to make this aura-"

"No shit, genius, I can smell it too-" she covers her nose, it was making her feel light headed "Disgusting-" the humans face twists, opening her mouth in protest but this time Gabriel is the one to snap his fingers, freezing her on the spot.

"But why?" he circles about her, trying to find some reason for her to be so blessed. She wasn't a good person, not a to-be saint or a myrtar in the making. Just a regular, corrupted human. "Why are you blessed human?" 

"I don't know, sir," a monotonous voice leaves her lips, Beelzebub rolling her eyes. 

"Why would she know, Gabriel? Probably didn't even realise she was blessed to begin with," joining Gabriel in his circling the prince of hell begins her own line of questioning "How long have you worked here?"

"Eleven years since the fire and eleven years before it-"  
"You where one of our nuns?" 

The humans eyes follow Beelzebub around like a hawk, taking in the Demon before her "Yes, I was a nun before the fire." 

"What do you remember of the AntiChrist-?" Gabriel cuts in, and she smiles fondly at the memory, she must have taken quite the liking to the child for Gabriel feels her happiness rise at the thought.

"He had lovely little toesy-woesies-"

"We don't care about his toes-" Beelzebub hisses, feeling herself growing quickly frustrated "Tell us about him, Human, or face a fate worse than death," Gabriel snorts, trying to cover it with a cough as he watches the small demon conduct as thorough an investigation as she can with the human going off on long tangents.

"He was a beautiful baby, soft little curls and big eyes-   
my good luck charm he was. The day he came to the nunnery I had a sudden stroke of good luck, everything was coming up well for me. Got all my chores done without an accident and Sister Bernadette was so proud-and we had that charming stranger visit us who was so very-"

This part catches their attention, Gabriel snatching up the conversation "What stranger, who visited you?" the nunnery was quite secluded, anyone visiting would have to have gone out of their way to get here. "where they in cream clothing? Sort of tiny?" 

She gives him the once over "Well I guess in comparison to you, they were quiet small- and yes, in white clothes too. But how did you know-" 

He silences her with a flick of his hand "Aziraphale must have been here- I can't believe he didn't tell me."

Beelzebub had also drawn this conclusion. If Aziraphale had been here the day of the Antichrist's arrival it made sense that something would go wrong. And the blessing on the lady was devine, angelic in it's origins, perhaps he felt bad for the nun and gave her the blessing for all the trouble he was about to cause.

"He didn't mention it to you at all?" Beelzebub can't help the turn of her lips, it would seem the traitorous angel had been more cunning than he let on. "Because if he was here then that would explain this mess-"

"Hey now, let's not cast the blame so quick, little lord-" Gabriel enjoys her bristling, she seemed to puff up whenever she was angry, it was almost charming "Crowley was still the one to get the children mixed up-"

She cuts him off "Yes but if Aziraphale gave this women a blessing then that would have worked against Crowley by proxy of just being close to her." 

"But we don't know if that's what actually happened here-" Gabriel can't help but raise his voice, in heaven it was so much easier to make his point. No one contested him in Heaven, no one but Michael, all the other angels respected his word "-we can't place blame so early on, we still have other factors to look into!"

"Other factors like how shady that Aziraphale is? I didn't even know an angel could get their hands so dirty without falling" her tone is smug and accusing "Makes you wonder just how many of you feathery bimbo's are treading dirt into the carpet up there." she can't help herself, baring her teeth in a wolf like grin as Gabriel's face goes red and he can't believe he thought her charming. 

"Oh like you'd know all about dirt you filthy demo-" the women, former Sister Mary Loquacious, who had until that moment been held in place by Gabriel's minor miracle, coughs rather loudly to get their attention. 

"If you're looking for this 'Aziraphale' or whoever it was that visited me, they did leave a calling card- it's still in my wallet actually, funny that isn't it? You put things in your wallet and then you can end up finding them years later. I really do need to clean out my wallet actually, my bag as well, it's a frightful mes-" 

Gabriel snaps his fingers, shutting her up before what could have been a very long tangent "Give me the card, now."

Opening the bag she riffles around inside for a moment, pulling out a very old, leather wallet and taking from it a piece of cream card. It was a business card on thick paper, with deep crimson lettering and a name 'The Angels Horns'.

Gabriel takes it, scowl deepening as he reads the name. The demon at his side snatches it from him with quick fingers, smirking before turning it over "We have an address," it was faded and seemingly scribbled on in pencil, but it was an address none the less and a lead, one step closer to getting to smite one of those pompous feather dusters from up top. 

Gabriel snatches it back with a small tap to her hand "Rude-" he growls, raising a brow at the red that grows over her cheeks. Looking over the address he fights the urge to roll his eyes, of course this place was in Taddfield.


End file.
